Bacon in the Eye of the Storm
by Zeppelin Skies
Summary: Dean Winchester doesn't do morning runs, and he especially doesn't do romantic walks in the park, even if it's for his girlfriend. [Dean/OC]


**AN: Technically this belongs in chapter 4 of "What It Takes" in my** _ **Do You Recall-**_ **verse, but it can be read as a simple Dean/OC standalone set during season 5. Just a little drabble I finally finished.**

* * *

 _Bacon in the Eye of the Storm_

 _._

After roughly an hour of rare quiet in which Dean continued to flip through newspapers, Elena looked up from the book she was reading. She stretched her arms up and her legs out on the dingy couch they were occupying, for once frayed leather and not the usual moth-eaten fabric that usually passed as furniture at the motels they stayed at.

She stared at Dean's concentrated profile from where he sat at the far end of the couch.

It was a good view.

Three-weeks' worth of stubble on such a defined jawline was worth the extra few seconds of ogling, but even she could only stare at her boyfriend for so long before his handsome profile became a blur in her vision.

She sighed, the not-on-purpose (on purpose) kind.

It didn't even get his eyes off the page. Knowing Dean, if it wasn't from his "secret" stash of porn (stored under the cache of weapons in Baby's trunk; _real_ clever by the way), whatever he was reading couldn't be _that_ interesting, could it?

So she stared for a while, burning a hole in the side of his face the way she knew annoyed him, all the while drumming her fingernails on the armrest she was curled up against.

Finally Dean's gaze lifted from the bleak pages in front of him.

"What?"

"I'm bored."

Dean flipped the page.

"There's half a ham sandwich in the mini fridge."

Elena grimaced. No, there was a _science experiment_ in the fridge. She didn't trust meat cooked by a joy buzzer on steroids, let alone _two-week-old_ meat cooked by a 'roided up kid's prank.

" _Thanks_ , but I'm not hungry."

Green eyes focused on the words making lines on the page—over and over because he wasn't actually reading them. It was his turn to sigh.

"Here," he said, and tossed her a folded newspaper underneath the one he was reading. "Look through that. See if there's anything that sounds like our kind of gig."

"I'm _tired_ of reading."

Dean rolled his eyes and chose to ignore her, even as she began to drum her nails again, this time on the book sitting on her lap.

She sighed.

Then she drummed.

Another sigh, little more dramatic flair.

Annoyed drumming.

An even _longer_ sigh.

* * *

There was a brief pause where all extra noise ceased. Only the grip on his papers gave away that Dean was, maybe, a little tense.

Nails drummed again, loudly on the leather and making his eyebrow twitch.

"I need a shower," Elena announced.

Dean grit his teeth.

"It's open," he said shortly.

"But that would require getting up," she pointed out. She sprawled out wider, letting her folded legs nearly meet with Dean's thigh.

"So get your ass up," he snapped.

"But that would require _effort_ ," she whined, and rolled onto her side, teasing him with the curve of her ass in the spandex shorts she often wore to bed. It was still early enough in the morning that she could justify staying in her pajamas until they decided where they were going next. Sam was still on his morning run, leaving the two to make their much slower movements into wakeful consciousness.

Dean finally looked over at her, brows furrowed in annoyance. The smile that suddenly flicked onto his face was pretty fake, in her opinion.

"Guess who's not givin' any fucks today?"

He returned to reading the local obituaries.

 _Rude_. Elena pulled a face at him and crossed her arms.

She sighed again, this time a bit more airy and feminine sounding.

"I'd have to get naked," she offered slyly.

Dean slowly turned his head, raising a brow while remaining nonplussed. She could tell though, a smile was threatening to tug up the corner of his mouth.

She bit her lip, anticipation building in her limbs that would propel her out of her seat and—

"Get your ass off the couch before I kick you off."

Elena let out a deflated huff. With a roll of her eyes, she sunk further into the leather cushions (which kind of chaffed, actually) and nudged his thigh with her feet in retaliation.

"You're mean." _And grumpy in the morning._

He snorted. "Right."

"Ass-hat."

"Been called worse."

"Bet you have," she muttered. _Ass-hat._ But she slipped out of her seat and went around to the back of the couch, draping herself backwards so her head rested on his shoulder and her long hair fell down his arm.

It covered the whole left side of some guy's obit he was trying to read—something about garden shears and his dog's poorly placed chew toy.

"Sam's on a run, enjoying the outdoors," she pointed out.

"Good for him." Dean brushed her hair out of the way and crossed out the obit, last one in the section. Onto the next one, featured in the local news of some smallish city one state over: a 25-year-old man died of old age.

What? He shook his head. _Now we're talkin'._

They might've put letting Jesse run from his fate in the "win" column, but even if they couldn't figure out how to ice the devil yet, he _really_ wanted a solid victory for once. Even if it didn't count for much in the long run.

"Wanna go for a walk with me?"

 _Huh?_ Dean nearly shook his head again.

"What?"

Elena bit her lip hopefully. They didn't often go out just the two of them if it wasn't to get food or run some case-related errand. With them putting their everything into stopping, you know, the _apocalypse_ , there was usually no time, no energy, or no money. But a walk down to the nearest diner or small-town café, just being together like that for a little while…it might be nice for a change. Plus she was craving pancakes and bacon, big time.

Maybe some eggs on the side, scrambled with cheese on top (couldn't do eggs without cheese, which Dean weirdly thought was gross but she could only swear by it). Oh, and some fruit to keep her figure at least within the realm of good health. Had to be strawberries— _ooh, maybe they've got honey, just to drizzle._

Or whipped cream. A diner had to have whipped cream, right? And Dean, Dean was always game for a good meal even if he had to walk to it.

But Dean never even looked up from his newspaper.

"I look like Sammy to you?" he intoned. "I get enough cardio runnin' down evil sons of bitches."

Elena rolled her eyes (kind of a weird vantage point from technically being up-side-down).

"Not as exercise, Dean. Just walk with me, talk with me."

When he didn't answer, she rolled toward him and shook his arm. For once she was feeling a little childish, a big grin on her face. Meanwhile, Dean was quickly losing his patience.

"Come _oooon_ , it's a brand new day. The sun's shinning, we can get some eggs, and pancakes, and bac—"

"Goddamn—does it have to be _right now?_ " he snapped. He slipped his arm out of her grip, not in the mood for her antics.

"I barely got four hours last night and my coffee's barely even set in."

Elena paused. Now admittedly the blood rushing to her head was starting to get to her, but she honestly didn't think spending time with her would be such a _chore_ for him. They'd only officially been a couple for a few months now.

 _I mean, I get that he didn't get up on the ride side of the moldy bed, but…_

She just thought it would've been nice. And since when did he shoot down _food_?

"Sorry," she said eventually. "Didn't mean to _distract_ you, oh productive one. I'll just enjoy the nice lull in the apocalypse battle by myself."

And bacon. She was gunna have _all_ the bacon.

She didn't see her boyfriend roll green eyes heavenward in exasperation, letting out a long breath and a rueful grin take over his features.

Just as she was about to get up and leave him to his obit scanning, she was stopped by a hand tangling in her hair and gripping it tightly.

"Hey—ow!" she reared back to grab his hand. "Dean!"

She looked over at him and met his smirk with a glare.

"Where d'you think you're going?"

"I was gunna leave you alone like you wanted. Down as many plates of greasy bacon as I feel like, since I've stopped giving a shit about my figure," she retorted hotly. "So let go before a giant wad of newspaper gets crammed up your—"

"Did I _say_ that?" Dean asked dryly. Elena tried and failed to get her hair out of his grip.

"Uh, _yeah_. You told me to go."

"I said to get your ass off the couch."

"And I did, now I'm leaving." Dean shrugged and finally let go of her.

"Okay, let's go then." He shoved the newspapers to the side and went for his leather jacket draped on a nearby chair. Elena glared at him while she fixed her hair and massaged her aching scalp afterwards. Instead of arguing further, she just dragged on a pair of jeans and her own coat and boots in preparation for the cool fall air.

Dean grabbed his wallet and his cell phone and shot Sam a quick text as they made their way out the door.

"You're such an ass, you know that?" she grouched as they stepped out onto the sidewalk. It was pretty chilly, but the sun was out and a morning breeze swept around them, rustling the tall trees that made up the little country town.

But she couldn't even enjoy the quaint surroundings when her good mood had just been so abruptly soured.

"Don't be so pissy." Dean slid his hands in his pockets and despite his longer stride, he set a pretty sedate pace. Especially considering the promise of food at the end of this little excursion.

"We're out. There's sun, we're walking and we're talking. Happy?"

"Why'd you come if you didn't feel like going anywhere?"

"You said food, right?"

 _Figures._

Elena just huffed and crossed her arms, leaving a nice two-foot gap between them.

Some stroll this was.

Dean tried not to roll his eyes again. There she was, bitchface activated with her loose tresses whipping all around her. She was fighting against the wind, spitting out hair and huffing, trying to blow it out of her face without having to uncross her arms. She forgot her gloves again.

And now she was steadily veering off-road (off-sidewalk?), into the path of a tree if she didn't stop.

"Hey!" Dean grabbed her by the back of her jacket and yanked her towards him. Nearly tripping over an uneven patch of concrete, Elena grabbed for him. Unfortunately she was still blind, until she was finally able to push the dark strands of hair out of her face.

"Watch where you're going."

"Urrgh, damn it!" Elena growled. "One of these days I'm just gunna chop all of this off."

"Just tie it back." His arm was wrapped around her waist now, guiding her while she couldn't be bothered to pay attention to her surroundings. He liked that windswept, sex-tousled look she had going on right now—she almost never let her hair down, but he knew she'd been doing it more often because she knew he liked it loose. Wilder the better.

Her lips were in an angry (but kind of adorable) pout, and he had the urge to bite that lower lip like she had earlier at the motel room, when he'd nearly let her pin him onto that couch.

"No, but I'm serious. It's impractical, isn't it?" she asked. "One of these days some monster is gunna—"

"Maybe," Dean conceded. He stopped them in the middle of the neighborhood, under a large tree; he could see the diner up ahead, already filling up with hungry patrons. For now they had a blue sky above them and some nature around them. Nothing was actively chasing them, and things were okay for the moment.

He slid his hands up from her waist and cupped her cheeks briefly before tangling his fingers through her hair. It wasn't straight or shiny, but it was soft and the wind curled strands of it around his hands and wrists.

"But first, I'm gunna." With that grin she knew all too well, she let him tug her head back and kiss her in a way that made her toes curl. Her hands made their way under his jacket, both for warmth and to pull him closer as she met his lips just as enthusiastically.

His fingers brushed the back of her neck, making a pleasant shiver run down her spine. His grin spread against her lips and she had to smile back. Dean lowered his forehead to hers and just breathed fresh, quiet, non-gun-slinging or blood-spraying air. Eventually they came back to reality when she asked,

"Bacon?"

"…Yeah. Let's do it."

Dean tugged on her hair one last time, teasing her with a smirk before letting his hands fall away from her, back into his pockets. He let her loop her arm through his though, and couldn't beat down the softer smile he felt growing on his face when she rested her head against his shoulder.

"Better be crispy," he told her.

"What'll you do if it's not, hold the chef at gunpoint?" she asked tartly.

"If it gets Garçon cookin'."

"Garçon's the waiter, dumbass."

"Well Jesus, I don't care who cooks the food, long as the shit comes out right."

Elena let out a long sigh.

"Your wealth of dad jokes is a bottomless pit."

"You're about to be the only bottomless pit around here—they're doing a special on double stack pancakes and a free side."

"That's rich, coming from the human garbage disposal…wait, where do you see that?"

"There, on the window."

"Ooh, side of cheesy eggs, here I come."

Dean just shook his head. Despite himself, he slipped his arm out of hers so he could pull her closer to his side, his hand molding to the curve of her waist.

"You're a fucking weirdo."

"Hurry up—open the door!"

Once out of the shower back at the motel room, Sam was just toweling off when he checked his phone. He wasn't that worried about the place being empty while Dean's wallet and keys were gone. After taking the scenic route back, he'd known that his brother and Elena were sure to get hungry eventually.

 _ **Dean:**_

 _ **Adults only breakfast. Will bring Buddy back a bacon strip.**_


End file.
